Cataclysm
by Griever11
Summary: 'Loving her wasn't going away quietly. Loving her might break him.' Takes place after 4x21 Headhunters. Co-authored by jstar1382, chezchuckles and griever11.
1. Chapter 1

**Cataclysm**

* * *

Rick Castle buried his head in his hands, sighed, and then scrubbed through his hair. But it didn't alleviate the headache that been building for days, nor the tight ache in his chest at what he knew had to happen next.

He had to give her up. It wasn't meant to be. They had missed their moment.

All those awful clichés.

Kate Beckett was his friend, and she would only ever be his friend. He had been confronted with that reality in such a bald and brutal way that he couldn't deny it any longer. All of her careful consideration, her gentleness - she'd been trying to spare his feelings.

He had gone from furious and lashing out to simply… sad.

Detective Slaughter had at least done that for him.

Castle lifted his head blindly, pressed his hands to his knees to push himself off the break room couch. He felt like an old man, his bones popping, his muscles creaking. Slaughter's rough and tumble detective style didn't give much quarter and Castle was feeling it even now, five days later.

"Castle!"

Of course, Beckett called his name and he jerked right to his feet, unable to resist. Like he hadn't had enough, like his heart could take more trampling.

She came around the corner, her jacket slung over one shoulder. "Castle, you wanna ride out with me?"

He swallowed hard. He wasn't sure he could take it.

Her face shuttered and she glanced to one side, avoiding his eyes. Like she knew that he knew and she didn't know what to say to him. So of course she went with case. "I'm gonna check up on Vales. Make sure he's truly left my city."

Castle closed his eyes, the name like a body blow. _Vales_. A bitter reminder of the royal screw-up he'd made of that case with Slaughter, and how she had to step in and save his sorry ass all over again. Save the day.

She was always doing that.

Her integrity and honor and her friendship with him had compelled her to help Castle straighten out Slaughter's case. The mess he'd made of it. She'd risked her professional neck for him, because they were _friends_ , and if he kept reading too much into it, if he kept foolishly falling in love with her over and over again, then whose fault was that?

He could do this. He could be friends with her. He'd - he hadn't done such a great job lately, and he'd pitched a fit and gone home sulking more than once, but he could be a better man. She had taught him that. Detective Beckett had the finest sense of-

"Castle? You coming, or..."

His eyes flew open at the hesitance in her voice. But his head bobbed, nodding, and he reached for his own jacket. The words were stuck in his throat.

She seemed to sense he was having a rough time of it, and whether she chalked it up to shame at his mistakes or something else - his struggle to be content with that friendship - he didn't know.

"I had a colleague keep an eye on Vales's cars, his crew. We're going to have to do a bit of legwork, but I want to be sure he's in Connecticut like the GPS says he is."

He gaped at her, surprised by her rather underhanded move. "You lojacked his car?"

She winked and held a finger to her lips in a conspiratorial smile. It caused such a bloom of warmth through him, like old times, that he smiled back.

And for some reason, her whole _being_ lit up in response.

It knocked the breath clean out of him, and stabbed a knife in his heart, all with that one gorgeous smile.

Loving her wasn't going away quietly. Loving her might break him.

(...)

Beckett was caught a little off guard by the fact that he'd agreed to come with her. Something had shifted between them, _again,_ and she didn't know how to deal with it. It felt like she was trying to put a puzzle together with the completely wrong pieces. Nothing fit.

What exactly was she missing here?

He had hesitated when she'd first asked, and she'd been so sure he would decline her invitation to accompany her on this unsanctioned road trip. But here he was, a silent shadow haunting her as they made their way to her precinct car.

She was trying to figure it out. She _had been_ trying, for weeks now, and she'd been so hopeful when he had turned up that morning, a cup of coffee in his hand for her, and she had thought maybe it was over. Whatever it had been.

She had thought wrong.

He'd left her for Slaughter, dragged her already bruised and battered heart through a minefield of betrayal and regret.

It was so damn frustrating to not know why.

Still, all other things aside, she'd happily take this quiet brooding Castle over obnoxious jerk Castle, flashing his Ferrari and his _Jacinda_ around, any day.

"Hopefully we'll find him exactly where he should be, and we can get back before dinner," she said. She unlocked the car and pulled the driver's side door open, looked up to find Castle blinking at her from across the roof of the car. He nodded again - still so quiet - before climbing inside.

With a sigh, she slid in herself, tugging at her seat belt as Castle did the same. She turned the keys in the ignition and the engine purred to life, filling the awkward silence between them with the gentle hum of a well-oiled machine.

"Do you need anything before we go? Food? I know you get hungry," she teased, glancing over at her partner before she angled the car away from the curb.

 _Partner._

Not like he was acting like much of one these days, really.

He winced. "No. Let's just get this over with."

The tinge of acid in his response made her jerk her head away from him as if struck. She exhaled slowly, counting to five in her head, reminding herself she was trying to ... _try_ here. She didn't even know what was wrong and it infuriated her and _god_ \- maybe if he'd jus _t talk to her_ , she'd know whatever it was that she'd done.

"I'm sorry." He cleared his throat and turned to her. His lips were in a crooked smile, apologetic, and he raised a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "I didn't mean to snap at you, Beckett. No, I'm not hungry, but we can stop for food if you are," he offered.

She bristled at the unnatural politeness in his voice. This whole weird-Castle thing was getting old really fast. "I'm never the one who wants-" She rolled her eyes. "Okay, never mind. We'll just... go then."

The streets were blessedly empty and she managed to make it onto the freeway incident free. She expected to admonish him at least twice for messing with the radio, or with the air conditioning, but the man next to her remained stoic and solemn, the model of good behavior.

It made her heart sink.

The longer they drove down the nearly deserted road, the more he noticed the rigid set of her spine and the hard clench of her jaw. He should say something, he should try to ease the tension that was nearly palpable in the air between them, but he couldn't - the words weren't there.

He couldn't make himself pretend. Maybe it came off as childish or pouting, but really he was just trying to heal here. He'd eventually get over it, eventually realize that it was all his overactive imagination, a pipe-dream to think she'd love him back, but right now he couldn't fake the breezy persona she'd come to rely on. It was all gray skies ahead for him, no silver linings.

If only he could just shut it off. His mother had told him that love wasn't a switch, but damn if he wished it could be. He was a glutton for punishment when it came to Kate Beckett. But as he sat in the passenger seat of her car, a place he'd been so many times before, he knew he couldn't let this go. Her.

Friends.

Partners.

He was her ride-along. This was his seat, his stupid spring that poked him in the ass. This was where he belonged.

It was better than not having her at all.

Maybe one day the fractured shards of his heart could be welded back together. Just not now. Not yet. He would go through the motions because he couldn't risk losing what little he had of her.

After all, he had neverhad her heart.

Damn, he was being so melodramatic that even _he_ was sick of himself. No one wanted to be around that guy, the sulking idiot. He'd learned that lesson ages ago, as a child accompanying his mother on the piano while she sang, the life of the party. People didn't want the real Rick Rodgers. They wanted Richard Castle, _the celebrity_ , gregarious and charming, smooth talker who threw his money around, who rode a police horse naked.

No more of this. He could play the part, plaster on the smile. He could do this.

He would do this.

Small talk. Supportive partner. _Fake it until you make it._

"I didn't realize it was supposed to storm," he said, trying to keep his voice light, finally cutting through their stark silence. It was cliché to talk about the weather, but it was the only thing he could conjure up. (Especially when all he wanted to say was 'Why don't you love me back?')

No, he was _done_ being pathetic. He had infringed on her good-heartedness long enough. Overstayed his welcome. He needed to fix this.

Weather was safe, if a piss-poor start, but looking out the window at the wind shearing the road, the lightning that seemed to crack open the sky - _safe_ probably wasn't the appropriate word for what was going on out there.

(...)

Beckett surreptitiously checked the address on her phone once more, then she smacked the top of her GPS display that was inset in the car dash. It blinked and stuttered, but the dot hadn't moved in nearly three miles.

"Amazing how reliant on technology we've gotten," Castle commented.

It was really a comment she could do without. "Cheap police issue," she muttered. In reality, it was probably the nasty storm outside interfering with the satellite.

Beckett had to work to not hunch her shoulders over the steering wheel as she peered through the fast-moving wipers, the slop of rain making visibility nil.

She grit her teeth at the silence from his side once more, tossed the phone towards him. "Map that, would you? GPS can't get a signal in all this."

He didn't answer, but she assumed he was doing as she'd asked. Neither of them wanted to be here; she knew that much. He had flight attendants and fun to get back to and she had a couple cases on her docket plus a court date she needed to prep for. The thunderstorm was making what should have been an ideal time to reacquaint themselves into a kind of watery hell, though she could admit she hadn't thought this one through.

She had been desperate; she knew that.

But after an hour and a half of fruitless, painful silence - or worse, his polite small talk - her heart wasn't in it.

Beckett swallowed roughly, gripping the steering wheel.

Her heart wasn't in it any longer. Where _was_ her heart? Had it been so easy to trample, after all? A few rough weeks of completely bewildering behavior, hurtful comments, and grief-stricken eyes when he thought she wasn't looking, and her heart was too battered to stay?

Maybe it was good they'd missed their moment. She wasn't ready for this, for _this_ , for heartache that felt so poignant it was like those first few minutes after waking from surgery, everything painful and tight and nothing making sense. Raw. She had walls for a damn good reason.

"Yeah, no good. I'm not getting a connection here either." Castle sighed. "Probably should just give it up, Beckett."

She ground her teeth to keep from saying something entirely too revealing. That had stung her pride. And he hadn't even meant it to. She knew that.

"Yeah," she admitted, her voice on a croak. She swallowed again and narrowed her eyes at the rain pouring outside, tried to come up with a plan. "I'll get as close as I can - the end point is still marked in GPS - and then we'll stop and ask for directions."

"It's a bar?"

"Mm." Her fingers were cramped on the wheel and she had to sit up straight to alleviate the ache in her back. "A motor works and bar - so it said on my report. Not sure what that means."

"Greasy shots?"

A laugh startled out of her. She gave Castle a short glance, suddenly flustered by the way he was looking at her. Back to sad eyes again, back to grief, to _yearning_. Her throat worked but no words came out.

How did she say _thank you so much for trying._

He smiled. Weak, but it was there. She tried for one back, though she knew all of her desperation was in her eyes - and she ought to be watching the road.

As she navigated the car over a low concrete bridge, the sound of the rain under their tires changed to a steady, low thrum. Felt like the sensation in her guts when he smiled like that.

Felt like complicated and not fun, and her insides twisted.

She reached blindly for the GPS to call up the address's end point, needing to not think, but his hand closed around hers.

"I'll get it. You should watch the road. Getting intense out there."

That wasn't her heart beating in her throat, choking off her air. No, because her heart wasn't supposed to be in it anymore, right?

Oh, God, she still needed him so badly.

(…)


	2. Chapter 2

"Take the next right, and we should be there. I think."

Beckett nodded at his instructions, squinting past the rain pelting relentlessly against her windshield.

It was easier with him navigating. She took comfort in the baritone of his voice calling out directions to her, focused on the familiar inflections of his speech instead of the horrible mangled thing her heart had been reduced to.

 _Keep talking, Castle,_ she thought to herself. _Keep talking so I don't drown in the storm._

"Not looking forward to getting out in this weather," Castle murmured, as if he heard her. He turned away from the window to smile at her, gentle and reserved. "My perfect hair will be ruined."

Her laugh was a pitiful thing but it made him grin wider and she was thankful for that. He was trying. And it made her want to try too.

She maneuvered the car into an empty spot in front of the bar, put it in park and yanked the keys out of the ignition. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the perfect soundtrack to her state of mind.

She half twisted in her seat, hand feeling for the belt buckle. She released it and her gaze fell on Castle who was peering out the window, GPS lying forgotten on his lap now that they'd arrived at their destination.

Lightning flashed in the night sky and it illuminated his profile, harsh white light glancing against the cut of his jaw. Handsome. It reminded her of a scene from her favorite Disney movie, the lonely, tragic, misunderstood Beast, longing for-

Longing for something she wasn't sure this beast wanted from her anymore.

She sighed.

"You wanna wait here?" she asked Castle, glancing to him as her fingers curled around the door handle. "It won't take too long. We both don't need to get drenched tonight."

He narrowed his eyes at her, the scar above his left eyebrow deepening as he frowned. "What makes you think I'm letting you go in there alone?"

"I'm just saying-"

"I'm coming with you. Partners."

She blinked and he was gone. The passenger door slammed shut. He was already making his way around the front of her car, holding his coat up over his head to shield himself from the onslaught of rain.

She pulled on the handle as he came around, nudging the door open with her foot. Her boot sank into at least an inch of water and she groaned. Altogether this wasn't turning into the best afternoon.

Castle had come around to her side, waiting patiently (always waiting), and she climbed out under the shelter of his jacket held high. She locked the door behind her, ducking under the coat he held up over their heads, protecting them from the brunt of the storm.

His jacket was as broad as his shoulders, but the downpour was heavy. She had no choice but to huddle in close, seeking his protection from the worst of the rain. He was so close, his shoulder bumping against her hers as they fell into step with each other, his warmth. They were still so physically in sync despite how _everything_ else was so fractured _._

They had parked on what was the main street of this tiny Connecticut village. The downtown had been revitalized, the buildings packed side by side as they fronted the street, little boutiques and specialty shops, pottery places, curio stores, wine dealers. Even in the rain, she could see straight up the hill towards the old bridge that spanned the river.

They trudged in silence towards the entrance of the bar, the storm so loud around them that it was pointless to attempt conversation. The standing water on the sidewalk was deep and it washed over her boots, seeped through her shoes so that her socks were soaked and uncomfortable.

When they arrived at the door, Castle backed away, letting her proceed first. His words came back to her - about her having to always be first through the door - and it brought a smile to her face despite how nasty his tone had been then. It was a reminder of when being handcuffed together and facing down a hungry tiger was an easier time.

Kate sighed.

The door swung open with a loud creak, two men coming out, and she caught the door and walked in.

Time to get all of this over with. Get him back to his family where he belonged.

(...)

He liked the Main Street vibe of this little town. All of the buildings were right up against each other, striped awnings and blue-painted doors and wrought iron. The bar was housed inside of a former motorworks, and the garage portion had been cleared out for a seedy Friday night bar. The usual waiting room was grouped with chairs and televisions, like a sports bar, while the garage was a mix of tables and bar stools haphazardly arranged around a dance floor.

Not classy whatsoever, but he applauded their attempt.

Beckett led him to the bar with minimal sway of her hips, which was - okay, he was both grateful for her subdued manner on this road trip but also disappointed. She must have been able to tell that he wasn't handling this unrequited love very well, and even if she refused to outright reject him (was that for his sake? because it sucked really), he no longer believed she was being purposefully cruel.

Just inadvertently.

Vales was right where his car's GPS purported him to be. And he'd seen them.

He sat at the end of the bar giving Beckett a look that Castle didn't like. Dead eyes, intense and scary, and one hand played with the rim of his shot glass like it was a movie or something.

So Rick stepped up to the bar and put his body between them, effectively blocking Kate from sight. He had meant his action to keep Vales from looking at her like that, but Beckett huffed at him and stood up, walked around him, and sat on the other side.

Now _she_ was blocking him from Vales's view while the asshole sent serial killer looks her way.

Castle sighed, shoulders hunched, and put his hands on the bar. The bartender came over in an amble, leaned against the wood in silent request.

"Scotch, rocks," he muttered.

"Don't got ice." The bartender pulled a tumbler from under the bear and poured the whiskey straight, and Castle didn't have it in him to question the lack of ice.

What kind of bar didn't have ice?

Oh, right. Former motorworks.

"For you?" the bartender said.

Beckett turned only slightly. "None, thanks. I'm on duty." She flashed her badge, which she'd clipped to the inside of her coat, and the bartender shrank back, lip curling in distaste. "I'm not here about your liquor license. I'm here about him." She pointedly gestured to Vales.

"Maybe you ought not to be pointing," the bartender muttered, only speaking Castle's mind.

"Has he been giving you trouble?"

"Honey, he _is_ trouble."

Castle bristled (it was all getting to him today), but Beckett plowed ahead. "He's trouble alright. I've already run him out of my city." She unfolded her business card from the sleeve of her coat, and while Castle always appreciated Beckett performing her magic (how was that still so hot?), today it made him want to strangle her.

What she was doing was dangerous, no matter how sly she thought she was. Hounding Vales was a mistake.

"You call me if he's trouble," she was saying. The bartender was steadfastly not taking the business card, as that would obviously put him at odds with the ungentleman at the end of the bar who was sending them dead-eyed looks.

Castle abruptly stood, taking the tumbler with him. Beckett spared him an iron look but said nothing to change his course. Nothing at all, actually; she went back to the bartender, evidently determined to push where she wasn't wanted.

Castle stalked off, heading for the grimy windows that fronted Main Street, a spot that also gave him a clear line of sight to Vales. The man was deadly, but he seemed content to eye the front door and give Beckett nasty looks.

The storm was intense. Massive amounts of water was falling from the sky all at once, and the darkness of those storm clouds gave the view from the window a dirty and desperate tinge.

Castle knocked back the last of his Scotch, feeling the burn down his throat and in his sinuses. He sniffed to clear the sensation, but it went on, buzzed at his ears. It was good whiskey despite the lack of ice.

Was she really courting danger like this? He knew she was armed. But picking a fight with a gang leader was a seriously bad idea. It was supposed to have been a draw - Vales got out of New York City, and Beckett had her _life._ So did Castle, come to think of it. But chasing down Vales like a dog didn't bode well for their future.

Her future.

Theirs was not a together kind of future. If she wanted to flirt with disaster, then it meant she wasn't flirting with him.

Which was fine. Which was-

"Holy shit," he croaked, stepping up to the glass. The _storm_ \- "Beckett!"

"Castle, hang-"

"Beckett, right _now_." The storm had overrun the riverbanks, the sewers, everything. The rain had backed up and now a massive tunnel of water was roaring down the chokepoint that was Main Street.

And wiping out everything in its path.

"What?" she gritted out, finally at his side.

He could feel her irritation but all he could do was point as the land-tsunami barreled down Main Street, lifting cars and tearing chunks out of buildings. "Flash flood."

"Oh my God," she breathed, stepping up to the window where now a crowd had gathered.

The water was like a wall. He winced as it reached her car, about two blocks up. "Oh no-"

"Shit!" She jerked forward, bolting for the door. "People - there are _people_ -" Being swept away.

Castle dropped the tumbler and rushed out after her.

(...)

She didn't manage to get very far.

People had clumped in the doorway, panic stricken, unable to move as they watched the devastation. Beckett elbowed her way through, her heart pounding in her ears. Her shoes didn't fare well against the slick concrete, sliding dangerously as she pushed outside.

The water level was rising fast, hurtling down the street in a steady roar, smashing through glass windows and wooden structures. She heard screaming in the distance, behind the blanket of rain and thunder, and she couldn't see through the sheets of rain to figure out where it was coming from.

She swallowed, the magnitude of what she was facing only just hitting her.

A woman just outside the doorway cried out as she was yanked off her feet by the gushing water; Beckett didn't hesitate, her arm flinging wide to grab the woman.

Her fingers closed around the woman's wrist, but momentum yanked back. Beckett stumbled, on the verge of being dragged away, but then her whole body lurched, jerked backwards by strong arms around her waist. She was being hauled back to the relative safety of the bar's front stoop, even as she clung to the woman by a wrist.

Castle.

He took two staggering steps backwards until they collapsed against the wall, out of the rushing river of water, a tangled heap. "Hell," he panted. "Be careful will you?"

Castle. On her six, as always. Saving her. Again.

"Yeah, too close," she admitted.

The woman was thanking them profusely, tearful and relieved. But Beckett merely nodded, still catching her breath, trying to calm her erratic heartbeat. Castle had a tight hold of her, her back flush against his chest, his arms banded around her midsection. He was making no move to let her go, seemed not even to realize he held her still.

Kate allowed herself a moment to enjoy the warmth, the strength of having him stand with her. But they couldn't stay like this.

"Get inside," she told the woman, moving to peel herself away from Castle. But he only loosened his hold. The rattled, water-logged woman was being handed back inside the bar, and hands reached out for her and Castle as well.

He still wouldn't quite let her go. She turned in the circle of his arms, knew her gratitude was spilling out in her eyes, but she pushed herself off him. "We need to get above the water line," she murmured, tugging on his arm.

He came with her, back to the steps of the bar, huddled in the doorway with the rest of the onlookers who could do nothing while the water still ran. Castle's shoulder pressed in against her own, and she squeezed water out of her jacket.

She glanced at him, saw the worry etched deep on his face. "Saved my life. Again." She ran a hand through her hair, flinching as her fingers caught in the tangles.

His large hand gave her waist a quick squeeze, like he was trying to convince himself she was still there - _alive_ \- and then fell away.

She knew the feeling. Wanting so much, but being brought up short when she remembered she couldn't have.

"That's what partners are supposed to do," he said finally, echoing her words from when she had helped him with Slaughter's case. He studied her. "You're okay?"

"Yeah, I've lost the shoes though," she said as she glanced down at her ruined boots. "They're not made for this."

"Yeah, this is bad," Castle muttered, ducking his head out from under the awning. He jerked back inside again. "The rain isn't letting up, and the water is still roaring down the street." He gripped her arm and squeezed. "What's the plan here?"

He knew her too well. She was a cop, protect and serve, and of course she was already trying to formulate her next move. She would not be content to stand here and watch as a flash flood wreaked such terrible destruction. But the water rushing through was deafening and she found it hard to concentrate, especially with his proximity.

"I'll coordinate with the local police," she said finally. "See how we can help." Kate halted, biting her lip as she realized what she'd said.

 _We._

Lately, there hadn't been a _we_.

She cleared her throat. "Actually, it's going to be a lot of chaos at first, and one more person-" She didn't say _untrained_ ; she wouldn't do that to him. "I'll mostly be coordinating resources, and I know that's not really your thing." She was backpedaling inelegantly, but she couldn't stop the words from coming out of her mouth. Panicked little bursts of excuses. "Plus it's safer inside, and I want you away from the water. I'm sure this has hit the news cycle; you need to call Alexis. Tell her you're all right. You should stay here."

She noticed the hesitation in his eyes that a year ago hadn't existed. He scraped a hand down his jaw. "Yeah. I think I'm better off here, Beckett," he finally said. "I'm good with people. Keep them calm, you know?"

Right.

Okay then. She could do this alone.

It had been her idea to split up after all.

(...)


	3. Chapter 3

When Rick found his detective six hours later, she looked wiped. She still had that hard, relentless edge to her features that had always attracted him, but there was no spark to it, and no longer any focus. She was done.

He came forward slowly, his phone in hand, the bottoms of his pants still wet to the knee. He had been all through this town trying to get things accomplished: hopping from Starbucks to internet cafe to public library just to keep his phone charged, making calls and sending texts and firing off emails to unsnarl the mess they were in, begging supplies or raiding dollar store shelves, sweet-talking his way inside more than one establishment.

Beckett, when he found her, was in the middle of a row of makeshift tables inside City Hall, her hands on her hips, studying a printed roster posted to the wall. He could see her teeth at her lip, and then the way she shook it off, as if there was nothing more that could be done. As if she was tapped out.

His chest ached. He really was so damn weary of hurting for her, about her, weary of wanting her so much and being a breath away from having.

Unrequited. He could not forget. It was unrequited. They were friends; he needed to be her friend now more than ever.

Beckett spotted his approach at the last second, and her entire demeanor changed. Lit up, a kind of glowing-

No.

He edited his thoughts with a heavy red pen, refused to allow himself to continue on with such delusions. She was exhausted and looking for relief, for a familiar face. End of story.

"Castle," she said, lips forming a faded smile.

He gave one back, hoped it was more energetic than her own. She was standing inside what was, in effect, a refugee center now, but the dissonance was jarring. Collections of sleeping bags were piled on top of marble stairs, foam mattresses from the Red Cross had been piled under the bust of a former town leader.

Behind Kate was a fire chief in his turnout coat leaning against a gilt-worked pillar and wiping sweat from his face, and just through the heavy cherry-wood doors were a swarm of people still soaked to the skin and looking bewildered. Incongruous, all of it.

Her smile turned up a little, _brightening_ , he might have once said. "About done here. If you're ready to-" She paused and frowned, her gaze sweeping the scene. "Oh no. My car. I didn't think."

"I took care of it," he said quietly.

Her eyes turned to him.

He gripped his phone to keep from reaching out and taking her by the elbow just to keep her upright. To feel her soft skin. "Esposito and Ryan are filling out the insurance forms, and I called the New York City's towing contractor. They're coming down tomorrow, hopefully, if the bridge is clear."

"The bridge." Her eyes closed as if absorbing that hit. Opened again, and the depths were so dark, drinking him down. "The car?"

He shook himself out of it. "It's totaled," he admitted. "Swept clear down to the bay bridge with the rest of those parked on the street. Roof crushed in, three missing tires. Looked like it was picked up and thrown."

She let out a breath and pushed the hair off her face, and now he could see her thinking, trying to work through what happened next. "I saw the bridge myself. It's a mess. I didn't realize my own car was in that wreckage." She shook her head, huffed. "They closed it down first thing, and there's no other way out of the bay. The ferries aren't running. What about north, out of town?"

He shook his head. "I looked. North of us is the river, where all that water came from. And that bridge is flooded."

"How flooded?" she asked.

"The river is washing over the concrete - that flooded."

Beckett growled, and he was fast losing hope for the night. He'd worked his best to arrange things for her, to make is easier on her after six hours of tirelessly serving as volunteer coordinator for the local police, not to mention the rescues she'd been a part of. He had come around from time to time, just to check on her, and each time she'd been too busy to even notice he was there. That intensity she always found in the midst of a crisis - that locked in mode - he could admit he adored it on her, that it made his heart beat too hard.

Even if it shouldn't. Hard to unlearn the habit of years, hard to stop being inspired by a muse even if she wouldn't have him.

She grit her teeth. "Okay. So. We need to…"

"I went to get us a couple of rooms at one of the bed and breakfasts a few blocks over," he interrupted. Castle took a breath of his own, fortifying, and she turned hopeful eyes to him. He hated to dash those hopes. "But with the situation at the bridges, everyone is stuck in town. Even those who live just outside. And-"

"They don't have any rooms," she said in rush, her face falling. He could see her calculating sleeping bags and City Hall, a cold night in the mob of people.

"No," he refuted. "They had rooms - six hours ago they did. But I let go of one of ours so someone else could have it." Her eyes snapped to his, shuttered. He grimaced. "We're - bunking together, Beckett."

Her jaw dropped.

He stopped looking at her. "I already know. I'm sleeping on the floor."

(...)

The exhaustion had settled in her bones.

It was a struggle making it the three blocks to the bed and breakfast, and upon finally entering the little building, Beckett released a sigh of relief.

She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but since it wasn't some dingy little roadside motel, she was grateful. They had walked into what she assumed was the lobby, decorated with beautiful antique wooden coffee tables and comfortable looking couches. Dark purple curtains fluttered by the windows, picking up the storm winds from outside. The carpet felt soft beneath her feet.

However, there was a tightly knotted group of people who looked just as lost and weary as she did. Curled on couches, snuggled in sleeping bags, camped out underneath the large coffee tables. Anywhere there was floor space, it had been claimed by someone dispossessed.

"Hey, come on. Room's this way," Castle said, his fingers curling around her bicep to pull her away from the lobby. She resisted, heart heavy as she took in the somber mood of the place.

"Castle, these people-" She couldn't even finish.

No wonder he'd given up one their rooms; she was honestly surprised he hadn't invited others into the one room they did have.

"It's too small for that," he said, as if in warning to what he could see on her face. He squeezed her arm again and then let his hand fall away, but he was still studying her. He frowned, as if he were picking his words very carefully. Since when did Castle ever think before he spoke?

God. What had they become? What had she _done_ to him?

"Beckett, I know you want to help, but you've been going full tilt at this for six hours," he said. It was almost a plea. "You're no good to them dead on your feet. The Red Cross is in town, these people have a roof over their heads, it's being handled."

She frowned, disagreement on the tip of her tongue, but she felt a twinge in her side, a pinch in her muscles that indicated she'd exerted herself far too much already. Her physical therapist would be displeased with her. She was still meant to be on a strict schedule with her recovery. He had already had to talk to her about overdoing it, how she could do more damage pushing herself too hard.

Kate rolled her shoulders, feeling the tension shift, and she nodded. "Okay, lead the way."

He smiled at her triumphantly - because he'd won this round and he knew it - and Beckett found herself returning it with one of her own. It almost felt like old times.

They made their way through the crowd and up a flight of stairs until they arrived at their door. The key jingled in Castle's hand, a big metal thing, vintage. The lock released with some effort, the knob turned, and the door swung open with a groan.

The room was as small as she'd expected. It was furnished simply, a double bed pushed up against the wall and a small desk next to another door she assumed led to the bathroom.

"It's not the Ritz, I know, but..."

"Oh, Castle, it's more than enough," she murmured.

He stilled behind her.

Had she said something wrong?

She turned around, took in the solemn set of his jaw, the tiredness in his eyes.

She kept forgetting that he wasn't trained for this stuff. That he wasn't a real cop. That despite his years shadowing her, this wasn't what he had signed up for. And yet here he was. Sticking it out with her in what was undoubtedly one of the worst flash floods in history without a single argument.

Her partner.

He'd made himself scarce while she took point with the rescue operation, but clearly he'd been doing some rescuing of his own.

Of her.

(...)

 _Hope everyone had a wonderful New Year!_


	4. Chapter 4

She was so tired.

Weariness was a hand over her, pressing her down. There was only so much a hot shower could do before standing up under the spray was itself too much.

She had to sit down and put her head between her knees just to keep from passing out.

But by now Castle was surely back in the room, waiting patiently for his turn. He had offered to let her go first while he scrounged up some dinner, but she wasn't holding out much hope. Neither was she looking forward to crawling into bed in her clothes from the day.

But could she really ask him to withstand merely underwear? Or worse, ask to borrow his undershirt? (It would smell like him, after all day, rainstorm and sweat, old cologne and maybe, faintly, that luxury the loft seemed to emanate.)

She was _so_ tired. She was getting punch drunk.

Kate flipped off the water and pushed herself to stand once more, swaying as the heat dragged blood out of her head. She grabbed for one of the too-starched guest towels, then had to clutch the towel rack to keep from pitching forward. She had to pay attention to where she placed her feet just to keep upright.

She dried off quickly, the chill zipping down her spine and already knotting up her muscles once more. She squeezed her hair out in the sink, shivering, and rubbed it briskly with the towel, doing the best she could with no products and cheap conditioner. Best she could.

It was never really enough.

She stared at herself in the mirror, tears stinging her eyes, throat closing up.

Didn't matter how much she did, how she tried, she was always sliding back down. To square one, to the end of the line, to that messy place where she had no control, where nothing went right.

Where she hurt the ones who had managed to stick with her.

Kate let out a breath and swallowed it down, forcing herself to stare herself down until she had a handle on it again.

The bullet wound was no longer a wound - it was a scar.

She pressed her knuckle to the spot between her breasts and hissed a breath as the keloid compacted against bone. It hurt. She wasn't going to lie to herself any longer. It hurt still, tightening up when she needed to be flexible, marring the things that used to be easy.

Kate turned slightly in the mirror and studied the line that followed her rib. The saving wound, the healing scar.

Only it hurt too.

Her _heart_ hurt. She-

The knock on the door startled her so badly she slammed her elbow into the sink and cursed.

"Kate?"

She grunted and pressed her elbow into her side, hunched as the day's exertions caught up to her. Muscles spasmed, her back seized, her chest refused to expand. "What?" she croaked, a pathetic noise slipping from her lips.

"Didn't mean to presume, but I… have pajamas for you. Clean. Can I-?"

She grabbed for the towel and whipped it around her, reached for the doorknob and opened it up. "Pajamas?"

He had his eyes closed. Her heart melted. And then fell apart, crumbled, helpless.

His jaw worked. "Well, it's just shorts and a t-shirt. All cotton. It's not like-" He bit off whatever he had been about to say and he offered the pajamas blindly.

She took them with one hand, studying his face - for once without him looking back. His eyes had squinted up so tightly as he was trying not to look. And his eyebrows were heavier than she'd realized, though his laugh lines were deep, and they made her smile reflexively.

She clutched the clothes against the knot of her towel, and then she reached out and gripped his still-proffered hand, squeezing his fingers. "Thank you, Rick. For taking care of - ah - everything."

She nudged him very lightly and then closed the door.

She refused to look in the mirror as she dressed, skimming the shorts up her legs and then pulling on the over-sized shirt.

When she stepped out of the steam-clouded bathroom, he lifted his head from the little side table and immediately froze.

Her hair was hanging in wet disarray, her forearms were scraped from work at the bridge, and she knew the bones of her knees and wrists jutted from all that time surviving rather than thriving.

But he looked at her like she was extraordinary.

She hadn't realized how much she'd missed that look. Or how much she needed it.

(...)

He knew he was staring.

But how was he supposed to _not_? Her legs were right there - too much of them; long, tanned, smooth. The shirt was too big on her skinny frame and the collar fell tantalizingly low against her chest, revealing far more skin than he'd seen in awhile.

Her hair was curly, like the time when they'd been pulled out of the Hudson, and it was a good look on her. Made her look freer somehow. Wild. Unfettered by gunshot wounds and loss and tragedy. Hauntingly beautiful.

He swallowed and averted his gaze. Not allowed. He wasn't allowed.

Clearing his throat, he turned from her to point at the bed. "Um, so you take the bed, obviously. I haven't looked yet, but I'm sure there are spare blankets in the closet. I'll just make a pallet on the floor. I'm so tired, I could sleep anywhere at this point."

At first, Kate said nothing, merely padded over to him, footfalls muffled by the plush carpet. Her fingers curled around his bicep and he could feel drops of water trailing down his arm from the strands of her wet hair.

Why was every movement and detail of her body suddenly so transfixing?

"There's no space on the floor, Castle," she said.

Yes, he had realized that the moment he'd set foot in the room, but what other choice did he have? He didn't mind. One night cramped on the floor was nothing if it meant it allowed Kate the rest she deserved.

"It's okay. If I lie here, you know, at the right angle, I can just fit." He drew an invisible line in the carpet with his toe, indicating where he'd be spending the night.

He was lying and they both knew it.

But Castle stepped past her, hoping to indicate the conversation was over. No more arguments; he just didn't have the energy to tangle with her right now. Of course, his chest brushed against her shoulders as he moved - the room was seriously small - and he flung open the closet door.

Huh.

No spare blanket. No spare anything.

"Well, will you look at that?" Kate murmured at his back, a teasing lilt in her voice like she'd won some unspoken competition.

He scowled. "What kind of bed and breakfast doesn't have spare blankets?"

"The kind at maximum capacity with people also sleeping in the lobby."

"Oh. Right." He should have thought of that. Blankets for those without a room for the night. Maybe it wouldn't be too cold on the floor. The carpet seemed thick enough. Might not be comfortable, but having a room was already more than he could have asked for in the current situation

By the time he had shelved his disappointment and shut the closet door, Kate had already settled on the bed, sitting cross-legged on top of the covers, peering at him curiously.

Her arms lifted to twist her wet hair into a knot, securing it with an elastic band that she seemed to conjure out of thin air.

"It really is okay, Castle. I don't mind if we share."

The words fell from her lips like they meant nothing, like the two of them did this all the time, and he kind of hated her for it.

Of course she didn't mind. She wasn't the one nursing fragile pieces of a broken heart. Wasn't the one trying to be okay with being _so much less_ than what he wanted for them.

How could she be so okay with everything?

Clearly the exhaustion was throwing him off; he had lately been more adept at keeping his cool, smothering his hurt feelings, but now it was boiling over so quickly. He knew it wasn't her fault - he couldn't make her fall in love with him any more than she could make him fall out of love with her.

But it was so _unfair._

She was still staring at him, head cocked to one side for an answer.

Fine.

Fine, he could do this.

"I sleep on the right," he grunted, climbing onto the bed with her. And then over her, pushing her out of the way.

How hard could this be?

(...)

Okay.

Okay, so…

Not his most brilliant moment.

The lights were still on. He hadn't showered. He was lying flat on his back to prove a point that was awkward and stupid to make. And he was still on top of the covers.

He wondered how long the silence would go on.

He wondered if she thought he was a pathetic wretch. He wondered if the thirteen cracks in the ceiling were a hopeful sign that the whole building might collapse on them sometime in the next forty seconds.

Please.

Instead Kate leaned over from her sitting position, and her knee pressed into his chest. He could smell the clean scent of her hair, the water drying on her skin. She had her lips pressed into something rather smirking.

"Castle," she said softly. "I might insist you shower, if we're going to share." Her nose wrinkled. "You smell like river water. What did you do?"

Thank God.

Like being released from a magic spell, he sat upright and ran his hand through his grimy hair. "I went to the bridge. Followed the water looking for your car." He hooked a finger in the placket of his dress shirt, Oxford blue, and popped open the button. "There was a guy stuck in his car. We formed a human chain to get to him. I think that's why-" He lowered his nose to his shirt. "Yeah. I stink. I'm gonna shower." And then to save face or smile through his pain or whatever the hell was his miserable coping mechanism, he gave her a jokey laugh. "Save my spot. I expect it to be here when I get back."

She didn't laugh.

But what she did might have been worse. She gave him a sober look and nodded, drawing her knees up to her chest and making herself small.

No, no. That wasn't his heart breaking for no good reason. Not at all.

Castle climbed off the bed and slogged towards the bathroom, peeling his shirt off as he went. He tossed it towards the narrow tv stand where he had already thrown his jacket and then reached the threshold of the bathroom.

"Rick?"

He froze, and why did that feel like panic?

"Did you buy clean clothes for yourself?"

He stumbled back, spun to face her, trying to collect himself. "Oh, yeah. Right, yes. Of course. They're right here." He tried to stalk forward to grab the plastic grocery bag that he'd hung from the rickety chair, but she had already eased out of bed and lifted it from the spindle.

She reached inside and took out the package of boxer shorts, and then plain v-neck blue t-shirt he'd bought. Before he had known he would have to give up one of the rooms.

She came to him (he had frozen again, right beside the television stand, like an idiot), and she offered him the clothes, a hand on top, a hand on the bottom of the stack.

He mindlessly took them from her, couldn't help the shiver down his spine at the way he accidentally trapped her fingers for a second.

Castle turned blindly, suddenly, for the bathroom and freedom, and he slammed the door.

(...)


	5. Chapter 5

She frowned at the closed door. Why did it feel like he had shut the door to more than just the bathroom, as if he'd walked away from her for more than just a shower? What... what was happening to them?

The shower turned on and she sighed, turning back to the bed. She pulled the covers down, just enough so that she could slip in, wriggling her toes beneath the soft blanket.

She'd been so preoccupied with the rescue operation that their overnight lodging had been the last thing on her mind, but Castle had done well with the bed and breakfast. Taking care of her needs over his own. Always having her back even when he didn't seem to want to.

Even when he didn't seem to _want_ to have her back anymore.

She shut her eyes and let her head fall against the headboard, allowing the monotonous sound of rushing water to lull her towards relaxation.

He'd been right about having a proper bed to sleep in. Her entire body was aching, muscles sore, and she couldn't imagine spending the night in the crowded lobby downstairs on some hard, uncomfortable floor.

Something else to thank him for.

She must have dozed off for a while because when she opened her eyes next, the door to the bathroom was open, steam billowing out.

And Castle was shirtless.

She was definitely awake now.

He had his back to her, arms stretched out as he tugged the shirt over his head. It was too small and it pulled tight over his wide frame. She watched in silence as the muscles in his broad back contracted with the force of his movement.

Why was he always hiding his physique under all those dress shirts and sport coats? She was suddenly grateful he wasn't this casual at the precinct. Easier to retain some semblance of professionalism that way. She bit her lip, attempting to tamp down the desire slowly spreading through her system.

Eventually, his head popped out from the collar and he turned around just as she lifted her gaze. He flushed, even though he hadn't been the one shamelessly ogling his partner. "Ah, didn't know you were awake."

She shrugged, lifting an eyebrow. But her gaze dropped to his boxer shorts before she could force herself to look back up to his face. "It's okay. I don't mind."

She expected some sort of smug leering from him, an acknowledgement of her indirect flirting, but all she received from him was a smile, and a quiet, "Oh, good."

Her fingers curled around the blanket, twisting the material like she was trying to wring all the confusion out of her. Why was Castle being so tight-lipped all of a sudden? She missed him - missed his nonstop chatter, his deep voice, the constant teasing. She wasn't as good at is as he was; she couldn't put them both at ease with a well-placed suggestive comment.

Why wasn't he being _Castle_?

"Lights off?" he asked as he strode across the room to the light switch.

She reached out to the lamp on the side table and turned it on before nodding at Castle. "Yeah, might as well."

The room was thrown into the shadows, eerie, the only illumination coming from the tiny lamp by her side.

"Thank you," she said, needing to fill the silence between them. "For um, getting us this room. Dealing with the car."

"It's the least I could do," he grunted, knees digging into the mattress as he climbed in with her. His added weight caused the bed to dip to the right and she felt herself shifting into his space involuntarily.

Her elbow dug into the mattress, trying to stop herself from colliding into him, but she ended up right next to his shoulder, her thigh against his knee, and completely in his personal space.

He no longer smelled like the river; he smelled like hotel soap.

Like herself. Huh.

She smiled at the thought, a little silly with it.

"Thought you said you didn't mind sharing, Beckett," Castle teased, although it didn't quite reach his eyes. He nudged his knee against her thigh and he crinkled his nose. "This isn't sharing you know."

"Maybe if you hadn't climbed up here like a clumsy bear, jostling everything," she groused, inching back to her side and moving down to her pillow.

She pulled the blanket up over her body as Castle settled in. But he was tossing and turning, apparently unable to get comfortable. When he finally stilled, they were both on their backs, ramrod straight, thighs almost touching, each afraid to move even another inch.

"You okay there, Castle?"

"Yeah," he muttered. "But a full-sized mattress makes for a damn small bed."

(...)

Damn.

Kate had finally fallen asleep.

He thought.

He was still stretched out on his back - his feet hanging off the end of the mattress (it was so small) - but she had turned on her side, facing him, and dropped right into sleep.

Long day. She'd been all over town coordinating rescue efforts and then survivors' shelters. She looked, even in sleep, carved up with exhaustion.

He was staring at her.

Yeah. Hell. He kept falling into that trap of mooning over her.

Castle scraped a hand down his face.

The trap of loving her.

Why was it still so _hard?_ He had done everything he knew to do, and yet just lying here in the darkness with her shoulders rounded in and her knees drawn up made his chest ache. Just seeing the slant of moonlight across her neck and the off-tilt of her ear and he wanted to cry.

He really had to get a handle on this. He had to - to figure out how to stop it. Flip the switch.

But tonight, with the moonlight and darkness, with the fall of her lashes to her cheek and the faint showing of her teeth behind her parted lips, he would let himself sink as deeply as it went, as far down as it went, until he managed to hit rock bottom.

Maybe this was exactly what he needed. Maybe this was an apology from the universe, a way to make it up to him.

 _You can have this, but no more._

Castle slowly turned his head on the pillow and caught sight of her full face, and the curl of her hand tucked under her chin. She was really beautiful. Sometimes he forgot that, what with solving cases and their freaky mind meld and the friendship part of things. But she was a stranger all over again, asleep in the moonlight; she was a new thing, a hopeless mystery.

He wanted to lift his hand and touch her cheek, see if she felt as soft as he remembered. (From the cemetery, from that kiss they never had talked about, never would. From dreams he shouldn't be having but couldn't control.)

Instead, Castle turned his back to her and laid on his side.

Better this way. Better not to see her.

(...)

Castle woke abruptly, like being shaken from restless sleep. His eyes popped open, scanned the unfamiliar space, trying to orient.

And then a warm body pressed into his back.

He froze, heart thrashing in his chest like a wild thing caught in a steel trap.

Kate. He was in bed with Kate. Last room at the inn, she had insisted on sharing; she had said she could share.

No. Not sharing.

Instead, Kate Beckett was huddled up against his back, her forehead pressed to the nape of his neck, her _fingers_ curled in the collar of his shirt.

Oh God.

He laid there, chest heaving for breaths that didn't want to come, and dared not move a muscle. After a long time, he could finally hear something other than his own ragged heartbeat.

He could hear her breathing. _._

Slow. Easy. The inhale soft and quiet, her exhale long, settling. She was asleep.

She had no idea what she'd done, what she was doing. Her breath was tickling his neck, making everything balance on the fine knife's edge of tension. It was excruciating. It was amazing.

And he was a bastard. Because he wasn't going to move away from her.

(...)

She woke up feeling uncomfortably hot. Bleary with sleep, she reached blindly to push the covers down her body but instead of the blanket, her palm landed on warm skin.

She blinked, no longer sleepy.

Castle. She was sleeping with Castle.

She was curled around him, the big spoon to his little spoon, her knees tucked neatly behind his. They were _cuddling._

She had an arm under her own pillow, but as her gaze dropped down to her other hand, she found it on Castle's waist. His shirt had ridden up in the night and her hand had found the bare skin just above the waistband of his boxer shorts. The heat of him spread through her.

She was riveted by the sight, her slender fingers against his smooth, moon-kissed skin. She wanted to slide her hand up his body, up the breadth of muscle and skin and _feel_ him.

Too much. This was too much.

And not enough.

Her toes pressed into the flesh of his calf, and when he didn't react, she scooted imperceptibly closer. Barely an inch between them now.

She didn't know what she was doing, but under the cover of darkness, she felt brave. Her hand slid forward to his stomach, the tip of her pinky grazing the top of his boxers. When she couldn't move her arm any further around his body - he was so big - she remained content with enjoying the sensation of the fine hairs of his body against her fingertips.

His torso rose and fell with every breath and her arm moved with it, thin and bony around his wide frame. His shoulder was so thick, obscuring her vision, his own hand stretched in front of him, out of her view.

She studied the vast plane of his back, so solid and strong under his cotton shirt. It was strange to watch him being so still, quiet and devoid of the exuberance that made him _him._ If they weren't stuck in whatever stupid impasse they were in, she'd wake him up. Thoroughly explore the smattering of hair that trailed off into his boxers.

She sighed.

She imagined them in a better time, when she wasn't so unsure, when he would smile at her the way he used to. A time when the slide of her skin against his didn't feel so forbidden.

But at least she had this. This stolen moment in time where she could pretend she could be good for him, draped around his back, protecting him the way he protected her in the light of day.

Partners.

And if that was all they'd ever be in this lifetime, no matter how that thought was ripping her heart in two, at least she had this moment.

But it couldn't last. It shouldn't.

Kate took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the nearness of him, and then she slowly withdrew. She moved back to her own side of the bed and put her back to him, pressing a hand to her eyes to hide the burn of tears.

(...)

She was knocked out of her misery by a sudden jostling, and a body rolling into hers. She gasped as his arm slung over her ribs and his broad chest covered her back. His arm tightened, trapping her own, and one of his thighs came up to bracket her like a parenthesis.

He was practically laying on top of her.

Asleep.

Kate took a slow breath, afraid to wake him, ruin it. She unfurled her fingers and swiped at her cheeks, and then carefully untangled her arm from under his. Exhaustion made her clumsy, and her hand bumped his bicep, but he only let out a soft sigh into her hair, still somehow in dreams.

She laid her arm over his and, before she could let herself second-guess, curled him into her chest. Her fingers laced with his, the heel of his palm pressing right against the place that ached the most. The wound over her heart.

Heat spread slowly through her body, seeping into her skin and easing the knots of her misery.

Whatever edges of anxiety had been rubbing up against her were now subsumed by the weight and warmth of this man. If she had thought that having his back, protecting him, her arms around him while he slept was right and true, then being surrounded by him was more.

More right. More of everything.

This wasn't a movie, wasn't some hilarious, tug-at-your-heartstrings romantic comedy where right about now the handsome lead would mumble the woman's name in his sleep. He _had_ rolled over into her, he had wrapped his arm (his body) around hers in a way that was all-encompassing, but she'd been so _wrong_ about everything these days that she was afraid.

Did this mean she hadn't lost him? Or was this simply the nearest warm body.

She couldn't keep doing this. Swinging back and forth. She wasn't fun; she was complicated. And she needed to find out, one way or another, what they had left between them.

The truth would out when Castle woke. She'd know then. She wouldn't move; she would stay right here, in his arms, for as long as he would - as long as he would have her.

(...)


	6. Chapter 6

Castle found awareness lazily, the heat of sunlight at his back and a warmth pressed into his body that seemed so familiar, and so foreign at the same time.

The bed was a lot more firm than he remembered.

An eye cracked open.

He batted down the hair that was in his face, teased it out of his mouth, froze.

Hair. Her hair. In his face. Her hair was-

They were sharing a room in a tiny bed and breakfast, sharing a _bed_ , and somehow he had wound his whole body around hers.

Oh God, she was going to kill him.

He didn't know what to do. He was paralyzed. Her hair smelled sweet and herbal, faintly damp from the shower last night, and he didn't think he could move away. He couldn't possibly. He had been in love with this woman for so long now it was like breathing, a second skin he couldn't slough off no matter how damn hard he had tried.

It was hopeless. She felt so good in his arms, every line and angle of her body pressed to him.

It was awful. How could he ever go back to not having her? He hadn't even _had_ her and he didn't think he could roll over and pretend it hadn't happened. Get out of this bed? Drive home? No. The moment he walked through his own door alone, he would be doomed.

But he had to, didn't he? He had to figure out a way to keep his sick-at-heart to himself, and be her partner, _professionally_ , like she deserved. He'd been an ass these last few weeks, and just because his love was unrequited, didn't mean she deserved his ire. She hadn't _asked_ for him to fall in love with her; she had always been quite clear about her lines, her walls.

He sucked in a shaky breath and tried to find his courage.

But one more moment. What could it hurt? The damage was done.

Rick dipped his chin and closed his eyes, pressing his face into her hair on the pillow, his arm tightening only a little.

Her fingers were curled around his. He hadn't quite realized that. Laced intimately, with his palm nestled between her breasts.

It was torture. He had to let go-

"Castle."

She was - _had been_ \- awake.

"S-sorry," he stuttered. "I'll-"

"Don't."

(...)

She tightened her fingers around his, keeping his big hand trapped there, right above her heart. "Don't," she repeated.

"But-"

"This is nice," she whispered. And it was. Him over her, around her, everywhere. His heartbeat strong and steady against her curved spine.

His lips at her hair. "Are you, ah, cold?"

"No."

"Okay."

She could feel the uneasiness rolling off him in waves. He was barely breathing, and his arm around her torso was tense and so very still.

The hard plane of his body, every ridge of muscle, pressed up against her back. Intimate.

And yet, there was a gaping chasm of loneliness and something that felt like betrayal right there between them.

Kate inhaled, calling up every last bit of courage she could summon, and slowly, very slowly, she untangled their fingers and turned around within his arms to face him.

He didn't move, not even an inch, and she ended up still cocooned in his embrace, her forehead by his chin, her palms resting against his broad chest. She leaned back, creating some space between them so she could look at him.

"Hi."

Castle blinked at her, sleep-mussed hair falling over his forehead. Adorable. His Adam's apple bobbed and he licked his lips, confusion in his eyes. "Uh, hi."

"It's early," she offered. Stating the obvious, because what else could she say? In the light of the new morning, everything seemed... unreal. They had spent the night cuddled together after surviving a freak flash flooding in a little town they weren't supposed to even be in in the first place.

Unreal.

"Did you sleep well?"

She startled, eyes flicking back to his at his question. His hand stroked a path down her back and she shuddered involuntarily. He was being brave, and while she couldn't be sure he wasn't still sleep-addled-

She wasn't going to ask him to stop.

"Yes. It uh, was very comfortable," she managed to say despite the distraction of of his hand coasting along her spine. He was doing it so leisurely, inch by inch, like he was committing every ridge and contour of her body to his memory.

Like he would never have another chance.

The thought scared her because _she_ wanted another chance. Needed it. There was no way she could pretend she didn't know how it felt to be in his arms, so protected and wanted and so _right._

She couldn't _not_ have this again. Not now. She could picture them so clearly, curled up around each other after a long day at the precinct, tangled between the sheets. He was a sound sleeper, comforting and- "You're a good bed mate. Hot."

His hand stilled. Mouth parted in surprise. In wonder.

Crap. Did she just say that _out loud_? "I mean, you're warm. Kept me warm. Is what I meant."

 _Get a grip, Kate._

She cleared her throat, not appreciating Castle's amused smile stretching across his face. She jabbed him in the chest. "I slept well," she reiterated.

"Good. You needed the sleep."

How exactly was he staying so calm about this? Talking as if he weren't currently running his fingers under her shirt and along the waistband of her sleep shorts. As if he weren't drawing circles with his thumb against the bare skin of her waist.

Her body's reaction was overwhelming. Goosebumps formed on her arms, her stomach muscles contracted with every swipe of the pad of his finger over her skin. It felt like the temperature had risen, ratcheted up a couple of degrees; she was burning up. Nothing could withstand this feeling.

Every brick of her wall was dust. Every reason and hesitation and excuse she'd made for waiting had disappeared. Nothing else mattered, nothing but him and the way he was looking at her right now. Desire, adoration, awe, pride, love.

"Castle," she gasped, eyes slipping shut as she arched into his touch. Unashamed.

His leg nudged between hers, thick and insistent, and she clamped her thighs around him, keeping him there.

Her hand moved from his chest down to the curve of his ass, indulging in a quick squeeze before she could give it any more thought. Castle jerked, his hips colliding into hers and her eyes flew open. She could feel him, every solid, hard inch of him pressed against her and she had to fight to maintain some semblance of control.

There was barely any space between them and his mouth was hovering right over hers, teasing, taunting her with its closeness. The mouth she'd had the luxury of tasting only once before and never again, and now - well now she wanted it again. She _wanted_.

She kissed him.

(...)

At the brief touch of her mouth, lust swamped his guts.

Castle pushed forward, devouring her with everything he'd been holding back for weeks now. Everything. Out of his control. He had her back against the mattress and his body pressed over hers, he was dragging her hands over her head and holding her down.

If he was rough, if the anger bled through, she seemed to like it.

She really liked it.

She was moaning. Her body was tensile and strong under his. (Did she think she deserved it? Did she deserve it?) Her teeth caught his bottom lip and then his tongue, and she sucked.

He growled something bleak and demanding, and if the grief now bubbled up and slowed him down, if his kisses were drugging and mournful and his hands wandering, dragging back down her body and under her shirt and to that warm, silky skin at the curve of her spine-

"Rick," she moaned. Her breath was hot at his jaw, her teeth scraping as she nuzzled into his cheek. "There's time. We have time."

He checked himself, barely, lifting his head to stare down at her. His body felt heavy with want, with a need so fierce it weighed him down. "Do we?"

Her eyes were dark moths to the flame. Her gaze seemed to skitter and flutter all along the planes of his cheeks, his forehead, his mouth. "Checkout isn't until eleven."

He chuckled, a dark noise of moments-missed and cross-purposed-communication. He cupped the side of her face and sank his fingers in her hair, holding her in place.

Slowly, he let his hips sink down into her, watching her response.

Her lashes fluttered, but she didn't close her eyes. He could see the effort it took her to control her reaction, how _much_ she wanted to lose herself to the sensation.

"Kate."

Her eyes cast wildly towards his, and her hands at his back gripped, kneaded flesh under his shirt. "I…"

He dipped his head and nudged his nose against hers, a soft breath, and gentled his kiss. Released the past, the frustration. Released the desperation.

She warmed and went soft, pliable under him, her thighs shifting wider, her hips bumping up into him. "Were you going to ask me something?" she murmured. Her kiss landed at his jaw, his ear, even as he tried to find his way across her body. "Did you need-"

"No, no," he assured her, tasting the golden skin of her neck, winning the war of their mouths for a moment. He buried himself at the hollow of her throat, at her clavicles which sharped against his tongue.

"Oh," she arched. Wonder in her voice.

He nudged her shirt down, kissed the flesh above her heart. He pushed his hand up under her shirt to meet in the middle, explore all he couldn't see, lips and fingers.

"Off," she gasped, struggling up. Her elbow got his cheek, but her shirt was rucked up, and then her breasts.

"Oh God."

He dived back for that hallowed place between, touched first with fingers and then immediately with his mouth. She whined, the sound vibrating in his lips from her ribs and he lifted his head, soothed two fingers down her white-pale scar.

Those eyes. The vulnerable and yet heady way she looked at him.

"I _was_ going to ask," he said then. His thumb made a low curve inward under her breast and came back to the scar. "I did need."

She caught his hand in her own, curled them together so that his knuckles bumped the scar. "What did you need?"

"Maybe just this."

She ducked her chin and kissed the calloused edge of his finger where the pen used to rest. He unfurled his hand and brushed her lips, and still the words didn't come tumbling out of her, didn't spill across the sheets like her hair on the pillow.

She didn't say it, but he hadn't really said it well to begin with, had he?

"I need to tell you," he got out. "No more asking, no more questions without answers. I just need to tell you how I feel."

Her body went still, her lips parted, and he could feel her heart rate kick up.

And here he was again, here they were, with him pressed over her, the desperation igniting in his blood stream, pressing his hand over a gunshot wound.

No wonder her eyes were so wide.

"Not like this," he growled, and rolled to his back to flip their positions.

Kate let out a breath, a grunt, and her body splayed over his, her breasts flattened to his chest and so alluring it was all he could do to release her hands and reach instead for her hair. He brushed it back and back again, a never-ending battle with her perched above him.

He would gladly make the fight.

"Castle?" she whispered.

"That's better," he sighed. Her heart rate hadn't lowered, no, but he would rather not mimic the field where she died. This would do just fine. "Kate."

Her shoulders hunched in, her body dropping low. Her eyes tripped up his arms to his shoulders, and finally to his own gaze.

He braced her with his arms and cupped her face in both hands. "Kate, I'm in love with you."

(...)


	7. Chapter 7

_This chapter is rated a mild M. Not that any of you will complain, I suppose. But I thought I'd warn you nonetheless. Enjoy!_

(...)

Joy unfurled within her, spreading through every inch of her body until she felt like she was on fire.

Everything she had feared for their relationship vanished before her eyes. They weren't broken. Chipped and cracked, but not broken.

"Kate?"

"Yes," she breathed, overcome with emotion. Her heart beat an unsteady rhythm beneath her chest and she felt like a baby bird learning to fly for the first time. Excited to soar, afraid to fall.

"Yes, wha-"

"Yes, I know," She cut him off, studying his expression. His jaw clenched tight, lips drawn in a thin line. Eyes clouded, accusing. His hands fell away from her face, a rejection, and she swallowed.

He wouldn't look at her, instead he was intent on staring at a spot behind her. "You knew. All this time."

Hearing him say it out loud was unnerving. Made it real, and she felt herself unravelling. The fraying ends of her soul pulled apart by his words until all that was left was the truth.

She pushed herself off him, climbing over so she could sit at his side, her back against the headboard. She looked at him, lying so still, jaw twitching as if he were holding back a flood of words that were threatening to spill from his lips.

"I'm sorry, Rick," she offered. "I can... explain. If you want me to."

Castle grunted and pushed up on his elbows so he was sitting up as well. Hope sparked from within when he didn't make a move to put space between them. They were shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. His hand came up to cup her cheek again and and she leaned into his palm, turning to him.

"When you said you loved me," she paused, holding her hand up as Castle's lips parted, on the verge of speaking. "When you said it, I was dying. Bleeding out from a hole in my chest. I didn't expect to wake up. But… I did."

Castle studied her intently.

"I got shot." She cleared her throat, trying to find the right words. "There was so much pain. I would wake up in pain, go to sleep in pain. Nothing... nothing felt real."

He remained silent, unmoving, but rapt with attention. Absorbing the story.

"For so long all I had were fragments of memories, you know? Couldn't tell what were the results of the drugs and what weren't. I hated it, nothing could be trusted."

She felt a twinge in her side, as though the mere thought of her time in recovery had triggered the phantom pain. She stretched to one side, working through the discomfort as she chose her next words carefully.

"I didn't know if what you said was real. If... you meant it. Maybe it was some kind of deathbed declaration. And well. You... you never said it again."

His hand drifted up into her hair, pushing it back from her face so she couldn't hide from his stern glare. Stern. But not angry, there was no hatred. Just.

Resignation.

Acceptance?

"And now?" he said roughly.

After everything that had happened between them, after a second declaration of love. She wasn't sure what he thought about her actions, wasn't sure she'd explained herself very well.

"I've been waiting. I wanted to be ready for us." That felt flimsy now. Worthless. Even a little silly. Because the truth was right there.

She didn't want to wait anymore. Waiting was dangerous. Waiting had shown her she might lose this. This thing they were on the verge of starting. She didn't want to wait if it meant Castle having to keep his distance in an attempt to stop loving her. No more.

She turned to him fully, knocking his hand away from her hair. She straddled his outstretched legs and then placed both hands on his shoulders. Pressed herself to him.

Whether or not his reaction was an automatic response (because he was always going to give of himself to her), she couldn't be sure, but when his arms circled her, palms resting between her shoulder blades, her heart sang.

They were chest to chest again, foreheads resting together. Sharing the same breath of air.

He kissed her, a feather-light touch against her open mouth. She responded in kind, closing around his bottom lip, sucking, nipping.

"Rick-"

His lashes brushed the beginning curve of her cheekbone as they parted, as if he still had to tilt his head into her even when he was pulling away. "Kate, do you love me?"

She held a finger under his chin, lifting his head so he was looking directly at her.

"Rick. Maybe I should have said this part first." She searched his face to be sure she wasn't too late. "I'm in love with you."

(...)

Castle pulled back to look at her.

She was? She was in love with him.

She had the same sober and single-minded focus on him that she'd had that day at the swings, when she had laid herself bare in spare, careful words. She was never the type to put it all out there, and he had learned early to stop and listen, to read between her lines.

But when she was matter of fact, and choosing eye contact with him, he knew she was the most serious. That even if her words weren't flowery or descriptive or effusive, she was certain of them. They came out plain when she was at her most vulnerable to him.

Kate gave him an uneasy glance. "So. Are you rehearsing how to let me down easy here or-"

"God, no," he croaked, gripping her by the shoulders and pulling her in against him once more. "No. Got lost in my own wonder."

"Wonder?" she whispered.

Oh, Kate. Was her confidence so shaky? "We've come a long way," he murmured, rubbing a hand down her back. She was straddling his lap. They had woken up in the same bed, practically wrapped around each other, and now she was in love with him. "Wow. We've come through a lot, and I guess I'm still astonished we're already here."

"We're here," she said. A short nod that brushed her nose against his chin. He flirted with the waistband of her shorts and then went ahead and splayed his hand across her bare skin. She inhaled deeply as if to fill his palm, and she shifted over his lap.

Whew. Okay, wonder was quickly being supplanted. "Kate. How - ahem - how here is here?"

She chuckled and lifted from his chest, pushing off to look at him. She had this playful slant to her look; her eyes traveled slowly to his mouth before coming up again. "Well, I'm here." She lightly rolled her hips and he gasped, clutching at her. "Oh, feels like you're here too."

"Beckett."

She leaned in, pressed in, and a wild part of him recognized she wasn't wearing anything at all under that shirt, that he could feel her skin under his hand at her back, that her fingers were tripping down his sides and burying in the waistband of his boxers. "Was that a warning in your voice, Rick?"

He felt drugged. He felt scattered. She loved him? "Don't you - have a wall or something?"

"Does this feel like a wall?"

"Damn, woman, when you make up your mind-"

She chuckled, and suddenly her mouth was on his, her amusement like an electric shock straight to his groin. He groaned into her kiss, the aggression of her tongue. Her hands raced up his chest and stroked at his neck before curving at his ears and into his hair, like she was assessing her newfound freedom with him.

Let her be free with him, oh please.

He wouldn't until she did. He wouldn't until she-

She did.

Castle jerked when her fingers snaked past his boxers. Her hand was cold, his body was on fire. He took it as free-for-all and immediately reciprocated, discovered just how hot she could be, how her body reacted to his, how she pitched forward into him, rolled.

"Rick," she gasped. Her fingers tightened around him and he groaned, his desperation growing exponentially. "Can't - hold off."

"Don't," he begged. "This might be the worst, fastest-"

"Hush." She smothered him with her mouth, fervent and clumsy, her hips working against his hand, her body flowering for him. She was erratic and wild; she was writhing, already so far gone, so into it.

Maybe she was just as edged as he was, maybe love could make it all seem so frenzied and immediate.

She loved him. He was touching her, and she was coming apart around his fingers.

Kate shuddered and fell into him, her heart so rowdy that he felt its beat and pulse in his own blood. He smoothed his fingers against her inside thigh and tugged at her shorts, pushing them down as far as he could manage. She roused and helped kick them off, shifting on his lap and falling back to the mattress as she stripped off her shirt.

Suddenly his lust burst apart like a rain cloud, dampened by the scar between her breasts. He reached out instinctively, touched two fingers to the marred skin.

She flinched. But caught his hand and slid her thumb into the cradle of his palm. He folded his fingers around hers and she pressed their clasp between her breasts.

"Lie down with me, Rick."

He came without prompting, flattening his hand against her chest and pressing her down before him. She groaned and arched to meet his body, her hands dragging his boxers away. He lowered himself onto her, like sinking into heaven, until their mouths met, melded.

After that, it was slow and dangerous, ready to fall over the edge, daring the other to go first. Their bodies held together, came apart.

It was their mutual confession of love. Hers plain and straightforward and somehow shocking, and his own flourished, a campaign, designed to unmake her, prove something.

(...)


	8. Chapter 8

They'd checked out at eleven on the dot, after another enthusiastic round of life (or love?) affirming sex in the shower. Whatever meager belongings they'd had for the night were packed into a plastic bag which Castle insisted on carrying. By the time they stepped out onto the porch of the bed and breakfast, the sun was already high in the sky, heat warming her skin.

Castle hovered behind her, his hand resting on her lower back as they surveyed the devastation before them. Trees had been uprooted, debris from the collapsed buildings was strewn about, and despite the efforts of the fire department last night, the single main road through town was still ankle deep in flood water.

"This is terrible," she said, feeling heartbroken for the community that had now lost most of their businesses. "I can't imagine..."

"The human spirit is nothing if not resilient. They'll come back from this and be stronger for it."

His attempt at lifting her spirits didn't go unappreciated. He was trying.

"You're sweet," she said, arching up on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. "And relentlessly optimistic." The contact was fleeting but Castle turned to her, blinking in surprise, hints of a smile playing on the corner of his half-open mouth.

She blushed, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. Her heart swelled, knowing that he was smiling because of her. That the glow of happiness shining in his eyes was of her doing.

Castle's hand drifted up her back and he curled his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in because - well, because they could do this now, and the realization only fed her general giddiness with this new normal. They could touch. Hug. Hold hands. Fall into bed together after a long day at work.

Oh, that was a nice thought. She leaned into his side, arm curving around his waist. "How're we getting home?" she asked after a moment.

"The rental company should be sending a car," he replied as he glanced at his watch. He frowned and looked into the distance. "And I was supposed to meet them by the bridge because they won't be able to get into town. I should go."

Beautiful man. Her man, her partner. She untangled herself from him and stepped back. "Go, Castle. I'll meet you there after I check in with the towing company, make sure everything is in order with my car."

"Yes, dear!" He winked at her with a cheeky grin on his face before leaning in to give her a quick kiss. He planted one right on her mouth, tongue sweeping over her bottom lip. In full view of the world.

Before she could react, or chastise him for dear, he was gone, hurrying away through the swampy muck that remained on the road, plastic bag swinging in his hand.

She touched her lips, fingers ghosting where he'd kissed her.

(...)

When she spotted Castle twenty minutes later, he was leaning against the door of their rental, nose buried in his phone, tapping away at the screen.

"The car is a beast," she said as she walked up to him, running a hand along the side of the gleaming SUV.

Castle startled, almost losing his grip on the phone. He slipped it into his back pocket and pushed off from the door.

"Just in case the roads are still flooded in places," Castle said, nodding towards the bridge. "And I thought you might like the legroom too, after last night."

She arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms in front her chest. She met his gaze steadily. "I'm not complaining about last night. Are you?"

His mouth opened and closed noiselessly, and he looked so caught-out it was comical. Kate laughed, a sound that was so free and light and pure - even to her own ears.

"I-I'm...no, not complaining," Castle sputtered. "At all."

"Good." Unfolding her arms, she closed the distance between them to kiss him.

No surprise this time, from either of them, and his lips parted for her easily. She skimmed her fingers along the front of his chest, teasing, and when she pulled away, she nudged him aside.

Kate yanked open the door to the driver's side, ignoring his indignant protests about her not letting him drive. She slid inside, adjusting the seat to accommodate her height.

"Buckle up, Castle. We're going home."

(...)

"You're dropping me off?"

When she glanced at him, he was surprised by the surprise on her face. Almost hurt by it, actually, because last night they had just-

"I was going to," she said. "I… um, I'll park? And come in. And…"

"No, I wasn't-" He felt his cheeks flush and he scrubbed both hands down his face. "I wasn't angling for anything. I thought you'd come up. Have lunch. Just… be with me."

"Oh." Kate sounded like the air had been punched out of her lungs. When he glanced at her, she looked like it too.

"Um. Never mind. Later, Kate. Just pull up-"

"No, I'll find a place to park. Can I - uh, take a shower at your place?"

Oh. Oh, he was such an ass. They'd had to make do with travel sized toiletries and pajamas he'd scrounged from the dollar store. "Hey," he said quickly, closing his hand around her elbow. "Drop me off. Go home. Shower with your own stuff, you know I like the way it smells, and-"

"You like the way I smell?" Her eyebrow arched. She slid him a look even as she pulled into the no parking zone in front of his building.

He squinted one eye and tried to judge the consequences of his answer, but it seemed less of an issue than his earlier needy selfishness. "Shower or no shower, I like the way you smell." Okay, that sounded weird. "Get changed, Kate. Come back for dinner? I'll make you something."

She gave a little noise and he saw her fingers blanch on the wheel. "I need to do the paperwork."

"It's only eleven," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"It's a lot of paperwork," she answered evenly.

He frowned. "I did say dinner. Right?" He knew that sounded just as needy and selfish as I thought you'd be with me but he couldn't seem to stop himself. "It's just dinner, Kate. It doesn't have to be-"

"It does have to be," she said quickly, scowling at him. "Don't backpedal on me now, Castle-"

"No, I'm not. I just don't want you thinking this is too much. Or-"

"You're not too much," she said softly, reaching for him. He was stunned by the tenderness in her eyes, the gentle way her fingers touched his jaw - all in direct contrast to I need to do paperwork. She let out a breath. "You're not too much. Please believe that."

He shook his head, realized maybe it wasn't the message he meant to convey, and he had to catch her hand and kiss her palm before he could clear his throat to speak. "Paperwork, then. Text me when you're close to finished, and I'll start dinner then."

"No," she said. Her fingers curled around his. "Meet at Remy's. You can make dinner for me this weekend. Not your place. Tonight I want you to come home with me."

He felt his heart stumble in his chest at the look on her face, but he leaned in and kissed her for it. Kissed her because he could, because she wanted him to, because he needed her and the way she bulldozed the world. And him.

An angry honking behind them made him startle, and Kate laughed a little as she stroked her thumb against his bottom lip. "Go upstairs, Rick. Write a few scenes of Nikki Heat - the good parts - and I'll see you for dinner."

He grinned, and he opened his mouth to say it, but she beat him to it.

"I love you." Her smile was wide, her smile was certain. "Now go."

He hopped out of the car, taking his bag of stuff with him, and leaned back in for a moment. "Love you too, Beckett. Kill that paperwork."

(FIN)

 _Thank you all for your kind words and I hope you've enjoyed this as much as we enjoyed writing it_!


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